Fox Paws and Crow Feathers
by Naya Zephronic
Summary: The fade is were all dreamers go. The fox wants to go on dreaming, but the crow has other ideas. Fluffy One-shot.


_Why are you asking me? I have no idea, really! It just wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy~_

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In the beyond she was free.

When she wasn't claimed by the taint induced nightmares she wandered the realm as a fox. Here she was no warden; she was no leader of armies, no hero to anyone. Here she was a simple thing, not the largest, or the most powerful. Not the quickest, though some might call her twice too cunning here still too.

No, she was none of these things and it was these dreams that made her happiest.

She would run in the beyond as a fox, run like the wind, and endless landscape for her light paws to dance upon. She would hunt, little squirrel dreamers and little hare nappers, they'd harmlessly wake with a start in the world, all in good fun. But she'd never hunt the rat sleepers, something about them made her sad and she could not seem to bring herself to do it.

And when she was done with her running and her hunting she'd lay spread out in bliss, without a care. No one bothers the fox dozers, they are unimportant, too good with their words for the effort, little to gain besides, and they like it that way. There are others much more deserving, or undeserving hunts to be found.

So it is too her shock when the crow slumberer circles above her and dives, flapping his wings in her face.

She jumps back with a start, who? Who would bother a fox dozer, what does this crow slumberer think he is doing? She swats at him, barking at him to go away and leave her be. The crow only laughs taking wing and landing somewhere out of a fox's reach.

She growls and huffs and finds a new place to lie pointedly ignoring the crow.

And the crow comes again scratching at her with talons, but the act is lacking in malice. She jumps up again kicking and swatting and spitting at the nuisance that has become the crow. He however files, and she does not.

Foxes can run though.

And so she did, run as fast as she could, the land of dreams blur beneath her paws as she goes. There is nothing here to trip on, it is her will, there is nothing to slow her down, and that's her will too. The crow shouldn't be able to keep up, because that's her will as well, but he does because that is _his_ will.

And all the while the crow is laughing his annoying, _annoying_ laugh.

This game of his! He will not let her be! Why can he not be like the others? The squirrel dreamers, who even here busy themselves with tasks of collecting and storing, or the hare nappers that bound over fields with no fear, except for when she comes.

Or even the rat sleepers who sniff and scurry and are fearful even in the beyond?

No, he must be a crow slumberer, he must flaunt his feathers and parade about like he's important, because here crows are.

At least to her.

But she doesn't want to play this game! She wants to be a fox dozer and run and hunt and be _simple._ The crow won't let her; he delights in taunting her, of making things _complicated_ even here, even now.

She changes her will now, not happy with running and wishing the crow away. She jumps up and lands high above on the ground that rose to catch her, and jumps and lands again even higher. The crow has to climb now too to stay above her as she jumps and jumps again.

And leaps.

The crow and the fox meet in air, a tangle of feathers and fur as they plummet. They will hit the ground soon, but she has him, she'll show him for disturbing those simple wishes.

They fall together.

"Zevran…" Lyna whines dragged from her dreams as his fingers light her skin on fire with the gentlest of touches. He persists, maddeningly, with a deep chuckle, that annoying laugh of his again.

"Si, cara mia?" He purrs so softly, his lips against her throat.

"Sleep…" She begs him, even in the beyond, or the fade or whatever one wishes to call it, he does not let her be. Is it really too much to ask that she gets a few hours of sleep a night especially when her nightmares hound her so often?

"Oh, mi amor, if you…" He hums his fingers lingering somewhere she can't see from closed eyes. He is teasing her; he always teases her so, and touches her one last time. Her eyes snap open. "-Insist."

"Damn you," She groans, but now her lips are on _his_ and she can't _want _to stop. "You are insatiable and I _hate _you." Her words are empty, lies and he knows because he chuckles against her heated kisses, the laugh, wonderful, addictive laugh, she loves so much.

He knows because her hands cannot leave his body and he lets her have both their ways, wills combined.

In the beyond the fox dozer lay tangled in feathered wings, her crow slumberer resting happily against her.

It was here that she was the freest.


End file.
